Enough
by Writer-N-Disguise
Summary: SPOILERS through the first episode of season 5. Wilson wishes one thing had been different the night Amber died. House wishes a hundred things had been different, except that one.


A/N: This is just a quick one-shot that was running through my mind as I was watching the first episode of Season 5. For those of you up-to-date on the series, that's forever ago, so I'll recap: Amber died in the season 4 finale. House feels guilty, and Wilson is leaving the hospital. I've only watched through this episode, so please leave reviews, but don't tell me what happens, or whether or not Wilson stays.

This isn't meant to be slash, but can be considered pre-slash if you squint a bit. But then, I think the whole show can be considered pre-slash between these two if you squint. Alright, that out of the way, here we go.

"I'm sorry," House said, eyes set on his cane tapping a slow beat against the floor of Wilson's office. He chanced a glance up, to see Wilson staring at him. Wilson didn't speak, so he continued. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It was a freak accident. But I'm the reason she was on the bus, and I feel like crap. So I'm sorry."

"I know it wasn't your fault," Wilson said. House stared at him. "I wanted to blame you. I really did. But it wasn't your fault. I never blamed you for it. Well, maybe at first. But not anymore."

"But you're still leaving," House said. He hated seeing his friend in so much pain, and knowing he couldn't do anything about it. But having Wilson moping around and being pissed off at him for the next few months or a year, or hell even the rest of his life, would be better than him not being around at all.

"I just," Wilson paused, taking a deep breath. He looked back up at House, unshed tears making his eyes shine in the dim moonlight through the window. "I can't stay here. Everything I see, everyone I talk to. It reminds me of her."

"Things will remind you of her no matter where you go," House said. He took a step forward, frustrated again at Wilson idiotic logic behind leaving. "The dog down the street will remind you of the time she told you she wanted a pet. The old lady at the grocery store will be wearing the same scarf. You can't run away from it."

Wilson sat back down, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. He covered his face, and House felt guilty as he saw his friend's shoulders heave in silent sobs because of what he'd said.

When his hands finally fell away to rest on the desk, Wilson's face was red and his eyes were still glistening. "I just wish things were different."

"People always wish for things to be different when someone they love dies," House said.

Wilson shook his head, his eyes finally meeting House's again. "No, I mean it," he said. "I wish things were different. If I hadn't been on call that night—House, I should've been on the one on the bus with you. I wish I had been."

"Don't say that," House muttered under his breath. His hand tightened around his cane. "Say anything you want about what happened. Except that."

"Why not?" Wilson demanded, standing up and glaring at House through bloodshot eyes.

"Because that's the only thing I was grateful for," House shot back at him. "I wish a hundred things had happened differently. I wish I hadn't been too drunk to drive. I wish the bartender had just left me alone and let me drive home despite that. I wish I hadn't left my cane in the bar. I wish Amber hadn't seen it or just decided to let me suffer and limp home without it. But I'm glad that you were at work. I'm sorry that she's dead. I'm sorry that you're in pain because of it. But if I could go back, and the only thing I was allowed to change was whether or not you were called into the hospital, I wouldn't change it."

House slammed the door when he left, not even sure whether or not he cared if Wilson left anymore. He was alive. The thought that Wilson might've been the one to die hadn't even occurred to him. Or his subconscious had weeded that thought out before he could dwell on it. He didn't want Wilson to leave. But maybe just knowing that he was off in some other state, other country, instead of a coffin was enough. It wasn't even close to being good enough. But it was enough.


End file.
